


Lifetimes

by Pollarize



Category: Bandom, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 14:13:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7979617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pollarize/pseuds/Pollarize
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boy, the old man, prince charming that could have rescued his dazzling prince. He doesn’t remember. But you do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lifetimes

**Author's Note:**

> funfact: i wrote most of this story while i was in army basic combat training
> 
> This was an attempt at something new really idk what it all turned out to be

The first time you see him it’s hot out and there’s sand everywhere. He’s nothing more than a slave, following the orders of the people higher than him. The pharaoh needed a tomb built.

 

Things didn’t seem right, did they? Seeing him work was almost distressing. He tripped one time, landing wrong and crying out in pain and you wanted to do something, anything, but you didn’t. 

 

For he was only a slave and you were royalty and there was a whip in your hand that was expected to be used. He was slacking, laying down on the job, he was weak. So in turn, you had to do your job and the guilt sat heavy in your stomach.

 

~~~

 

The next time you see him, everything's different. The smell of bread wafts through the air and a pleasant feeling surrounded you. 

 

You’re walking down the cobblestone path, weaving through the crowds as you try to find your way back home. There’s a little boy on the sidewalk up ahead, his clothes are tattered and his hair is so dirty and greasy that it’s plastered to his head. He’s on his knees, tears streaming down his face as he begged people for a piece of bread.

 

“Just a small piece,” he asked a lady. She doesn’t even look in his direction.

 

As you get closer you see how small he is, see how stretched tight his skin is over his bones. You recognize him but it’s different, he’s different, you’re different. You’re not sure what it is anymore but your heart still ached for him.

 

You go into a bakery and buy a loaf of bread, rushing it out and handing it to the boy.

 

“Eat it slowly,” is all you say before you leave, not wanting to look into those sad eyes any longer than you have to.

 

“God bless you!” Is called after you and you know it’s from the boy, you can hear the joy in his voice.

 

Maybe you redeemed yourself from your past life.

 

~~~

 

It can’t be a coincidence that you meet the boy again. It can’t be a coincidence that once again, your chest and head and heart hurt to see this boy in pain. He’s older this time, older than you. He’s sitting on top of a horse, his helmet cradled in his hand. People are taking their seats and facing towards the arenas as the horses trot around. 

 

A man stood next to the king and announced the names of each knight, you missed the name because you were too caught up with worry about him getting hurt. 

 

“A fight to the death for the heart of the Princess,” the man said. 

 

You look over to your older sister, the way she bat her eyelashes and waved at the contestants. 

 

The battle began and there’s a blur of armor and swords and you mix up who is the knight that you ache for. One goes down and there's red that seeps from between the metal plates. The other walks away, walks up to where the king and his children sat, where you sat. 

 

This could be your chance to have a conversation with the boy. 

 

“Sir Lancelot,” the man announced and he took his helmet off. It’s not the one you thought it was.

 

Your eyes drift to where the other knight lay in the steadily growing pile of blood. You think you might throw up.

 

~~~

 

You think life is unfair. 

 

You meet this boy over and over but it’s never completely right. He’s too old or too young, never the right time and place. He’s below you, like a change in class could really separate true love. Was it true love? You thought it was. What other reason would life have to thrust you towards this boy over and over. 

 

You don’t even know his name.

 

~~~

 

It happened again and you’re in a car. 

 

Your family was hurt by the decline in the economy but you were still doing well. It hurt to look at the people you once knew from school.

 

Boys and girls, faces you recognized, left out on the streets with no food, no home. They begged and begged and you think you’ve seen this before. Another life where you helped.

 

You’re in a car. 

 

Your father is driving down the road and you look out the window. It’s his eyes that you recognize. He’s in the body of an old man, withered and broken, dying. His eyes are always the same. 

 

You smile and wave from the car, ignoring the look your mother gave you. The man doesn’t return the smile. He’s in too much pain, it’s obvious. He’s clutching his stomach, reaching out to people who pass by but there’s too many homeless people for an everyday person to help. 

 

But this old man is dying and he’s your true love and you can’t help.

 

You’re in a car and you’re driving away. 

 

It’s the next day and you want just another glimpse of that man again. You want a chance that maybe you’ll see him somewhere else, that you can talk to him finally. 

 

He’s in the same spot but his eyes are closed. You thought he was dead. He wasn’t, just sleeping. His chest rose and fell shallowly.

 

Then the third day and you pray for a chance, for anything. His eyes are open but his chest doesn’t move. You know that he’s dead. 

 

The term ‘Great Depression’ makes sense. You cry through the night and your family doesn’t understand why.

 

~~~

 

You’re on stage and your dancing. You feel alive and powerful, you feel invincible. You want to climb to the tallest part of the building and scream until your lungs ache and your throat burns but you can’t. Not yet, anyway. 

 

You squint into the audience and you see him. He’s standing and watching, his eyes on you. He doesn’t recognize you. 

 

Thinking back, he never did. All those lives that you’ve lived, meeting him again and again and he see’s it as a first meeting each and every time. It saddened you that he can’t see how much you’ve cared through all of your lives. That he doesn’t understand how he had plagued your mind every single day of every single life. 

 

The boy, the old man, prince charming that could have rescued his dazzling prince. He doesn’t remember. But you do.

 

He approached you after you leave the stage and you realize this is the first time you will have ever talked to him. This is the first time he’s acknowledged you beyond a simple thank you. 

 

“It was amazing,” he said and you’re at a loss for words.

 

“Thank you.”

 

There’s a lapse in conversation and you see in his eyes that he doesn’t know what to do. You thought he might try to leave.

 

“I think I’m in love with you.”

 

He gave you a look, asked how you can be in love with a stranger. You don’t know each other, afterall.

 

“But you’ve never been a stranger. I’ve known you for lifetimes,” you said honestly, he smiled even though he doesn’t quite understand. 

 

“Lifetimes?” He asked and you nod. 

 

“I think I’m in love with you,” and he never denied your words. He smiled and took your hand and asked if you want coffee. 

 

You think that maybe this was the life you were meant to live. That the others were trial periods, that somebody messed up in your DNA coding along the way. God planted the wrong chip into you brain and it just took you longer to find perfect.

 

But you’ve found perfect.

  
He’s squinty eyes this time. Pink hair that looped across his forehead. It’s warm eyes, always so warm. They smile and he smiles and everything is smiling. He’s a soft face and soft hands that touch you gently and hold you like he’s in love, too. 


End file.
